Page 13 of Things We Tell Ourselves

Camille can feel her cheeks flush from Evelyn’s tone, but she’s right. She hates the mockup too.

“Have you read our mission statement?” Evelyn asks, looking between Gwen, who’s straining to see the mockup from across the table, and Derrick. “Because this,” she shoves the packet across the table, “is precisely the kind of thing we don’t want.”

Derrick shifts in his chair, glancing at Gwen, whose back stiffens.

“We have several advertising options,” she says, “depending on the target audience. What we want is to…garner interest, to educate those needing reliable, affordable,” she cuts her eyes at Derrick, who nods along, “at-home oxygen delivery.”

“My apologies, ladies,” Derrick says, giving them a mournful smile, “I simply wanted to show you how quickly our team can work to give your creation the limelight it deserves. How about I show you what you came here for.”

He goes to his suitcase, pulling out a thin booklet with a clear cover sheet. Lichtenstein Brothers proposal: Integrity Heights, L.L.C.

“This is what we are willing to offer you, along with an impressive royalty deal that we usually don’t offer for products that don’t have a proven sales history.”

He hands the booklet over to the women, giving Gwen a confident nod. She nods back, though less enthusiastically. Camille and Evelyn read the bold print on the cover sheet of the booklet.

“Half a million,” Camille murmurs, reading the terms for before and after the total buyout. Five hundred thousand dollars for the invention, intellectual property, rights, licenses, and prototypes. One and a half percent royalty for twenty-four months.

“That’s right,” Derrick beams. “It’s an impressive offer.”

Evelyn remains silent, opening the booklet.

“I brought my lucky pen,” Derrick proclaims, holding up the dark wood pen with bronze accents for them to see. “Everyone who’s used it has gone on to become successful entrepreneurs.”

He sets the pen down in front of Evelyn and Camille. Camille’s chest tightens as Evelyn picks it up, not as if she’s about to sign it but as if she were about to stab someone with it. Thankfully, Evelyn flips the pen around in her hand, using its tip to read over the second page. She pauses, rereading a section near the bottom of the page. Evelyn lifts her head from the booklet, cutting her eyes at Derrick and Gwen.

“Successful business owners without a business,” she scoffs, sliding the booklet in front of Camille, pointing at a small paragraph toward the bottom of the page.

“What’s this?” Camille asks, reading where Integrity Heights is listed along with Oxygen Recycler.

“They want all of it,” Evelyn stresses, sitting back in her chair, “your invention and our company. Is there a non-compete clause too?” Evelyn stares hard at Derrick.

Gwen turns to him. When he doesn’t answer straight away, she turns back to them, lifting her chin. “It’s usually at the end,” she says, eyeing the booklet in Camille’s hands with the same distaste as Evelyn.

Derrick glares at her. Camille flips through to the last page with Evelyn looking over her shoulder. Sure enough, there it is. By signing the contract, they agree to not own or work for any companies whose past, present, or future dealings mirror in any way the Flexinburg Group or its subsidiaries for a term of six years.

“Six years,” Evelyn murmurs.

“Six years,” Camille repeats.

“That’s a deal,” Derrick assures them with a shrug, “considering it’s a standard to require ten years.”

“A deal for whom?” Evelyn asks, so faintly that Camille barely catches it.

Gwen says nothing, shaking her head faintly. She lowers her gaze to stare down at the table. It takes all Camille has to not cry at this joke of an offer. It’s a deal alright, a deal for the Lichtenstein brothers and the Flexinburg Group. No wonder they made them partners. To hell with not having a proven sales record. They’re stealing technology from people for pennies on the dollar.

Camille shakes her head, laying the booklet on the table. “Our company is more than the Oxygen Recycler. We have plans for an entire line of products.” She reaches down for her bag, but Evelyn grips her wrist, looking at her with the same sadness that’s welling up inside of Camille.

“This has been a waste of our time,” Evelyn states surprisingly gently. “Don’t waste their time showing them something they aren’t willing to pay a fair price for.”

“Look,” Derrick insists, matching Evelyn’s soft tone, “if we expected this merger to raise the dial on our stocks, we’d be looking at an offer that reflected that, but, in this climate, we know it’s not going to be a top seller. I get it. This is hard to hear, but if it’s just the non-compete that’s an issue—”

Evelyn glares at him. “Where do I even begin?” The gentleness in her voice is gone. She lets go of Camille’s hand, giving him her full attention. “We did not fly up here to sell our company. If you even bothered to read the package I put together for you, then you would know that.”

Evelyn pushes her chair back to stand when Gwen stops her. “Evelyn, wait,” she glances uncomfortably at Derrick before looking back at the women. “I understand that the Oxygen Recycler is your baby. We didn’t bring you all the way out here to insult you. Let us know what number you think is fair, and we can go from there.”

“Five and a half million,” Evelyn says without hesitation, “ten percent royalty with no expiration date, and one-year non-compete.”

Camille’s jaw drops.

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